


Ficlets (Highlander: The Four Horsemen)

by diamond9697



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Blood and Violence, Burns, Character Death, Decapitation, Ficlet Collection, Fire, Gen, Harm to Children, Holocaust, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Swords, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 06:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 13,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16634327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamond9697/pseuds/diamond9697
Summary: As I have spent many years in writing communities in various places, I have a lot of short one shot ficlets and drabbles from a variety of Highlander characters.  I thought it would be easiest to have them all in one place, and given their shorter length, it seemed best to do it in a couple of collections.This collection is about Kronos and the Horsemen.  They get their own because of the nature of the characters.  Just so we're clear, there's a lot of very unpleasant situations, imagery, and topics, and I might not have tagged all of them to everyone's satisfaction.  Just be prepared.





	1. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos' thoughts at the beginning of the 5th season episode, 'Revelation 6:8'

The sun had not yet crested the horizon when they started moving again. They could have slept for a few more hours and still reached their destination before the sun reached its midpoint, but Kronos was not in the mood to wait. The dream that he had all but given up on was once again within his reach, and he was not about to put it off any longer than absolutely necessary. 

He could already see them in his mind’s eye, terrorizing the world now just as they had back in the Bronze Age. Oh things would be different of course. It wasn’t like they could ride out of the sun on horseback now and bring about the same kind of fear that they had once instilled in the pathetic villages that happened to cross their path. Instead they would have to work on a far grander scale to force the world’s population to its knees. 

Fortunately, Kronos had plans in place to make that a reality far sooner than his companion could possibly realize. He already had some ideas, and the tools needed to carry those ideas to fruition. All part of a pet project he had been working on for decades. Now he was finally on his way to getting the men he needed to carry it all out. 

Before long they would be the monsters that people spoke of in hushed whispers. A band of brothers that would once more force the world to hide in their holes, cowering at the mere mention of their names. Soon, the Horseman of the Apocalypse would ride again, and humanity would once again learn what it meant to be truly afraid.


	2. Overseer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos finds a new toy sometime during the Bronze Age.

When the girl woke, Kronos was sitting on a rock across the clearing from where he had tied her to a tree. She wasn’t much to look at, all tangled reddish hair and smears of dirt, but then Kronos had never been all that interested in their looks. What he did care about was that she was an Immortal, and one that hadn’t even gotten over the swaddling stage yet from the looks of things. In fact, he was pretty sure that she had very little idea of what she even was, but that was all about to change.

"Did you enjoy your nap?"

"What…what is going on? Who are you?" The fear in her eyes became evident as she realized she was bound, and she started to struggle. "Let me go!"

"Who am I? Well, I am the person who is going to oversee your admittance into the world you have recently been born into." He watched as she slowly stopped struggling, obviously confused by his words given the situation she was in at the moment.

"Why am I tied up?"

Kronos got to his feet and moved towards her, keeping his voice low and calm. It was the same tone he used to settle spooked horses. "To keep you from running away."

The girl struggled against her bonds again as she watched him approach. Something about the look in his eyes told her that he was dangerous, no matter how he sounded. "What...what are you going to teach me?"

He pulled a dagger from a sheath at his hip and then threw it at her in one smooth movement, watching as it lodged in her abdomen. He smiled as he saw the shock of what he had done register in her eyes, and before her screams could shatter the silence of the woods, he answered her question. "I am going to teach you the millions of ways that you cannot die, and then the one way that you can."


	3. Possessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos needs new test subjects during World War II, and has the perfect source.

Kronos looked vaguely bored as he stood before the man in charge of the facility. He had been through this more times than he cared to count, and yet each time they had to go through this song and dance. He knew that it made the mortal feel as though he had some vague sense of control, when in reality they both knew who was really in charge of the situation. Kronos would have simply killed him, but the man was hardly worth the effort, and he didn’t feel like breaking in whoever would take his place. Besides, there were more important matters at hand than putting this mortal in his place. 

“I need another hundred subjects. As before, they need to be in relatively good health and are to be of varying sex and ages.”

The man glanced up from the papers on his desk, looking somewhat annoyed at the interruption. “Are you planning on sharing your results with us anytime in the near future? After all, it has been quite some time since you have offered us any information and a show of good faith would be greatly appreciated.”

There was a snarl in Kronos’ voice as he responded, the boredom he had been feeling replaced by irritation. “I will give you something if and when I feel there is something of significance to be given. However, that’s not going to happen if I don’t get the test subjects I need. I doubt your superiors would be pleased if I were to tell them that your level of cooperation had diminished, especially considering how much I’m paying them.”

Swallowing, the man nodded even as he tried to hide his sudden discomfort. He had gotten complacent after the first couple of transactions with the man had gone relatively smoothly, and had forgotten his place for a moment, especially given his own position within the camp. “Of course I am more than happy to fill your request, as usual. I can have the merchandise ready for you to take possession within the hour.”

“See that you do, or I might have to begin testing on someone of a ‘higher’ race than those you’ve been giving me to this point.”

The man paled slightly, suddenly remembering the stories he had heard about the man with the scar, and what he was capable of if crossed. His superiors offered the man assistance for more than just monetary reasons, or so those stories had led him to believe. He would be sure to remember that in any future dealings with the man. “Of course, Herr Koenig. We at Auschwitz are only too happy to be of assistance in this matter.”


	4. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos' thoughts as he confronts Methos during 'Comes a Horseman'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words in Italics are a direct quote from the episode.

_"Well, it’s nice to feel wanted."_

_"Not want! Need."_

Even as Kronos spoke the words, he knew that he was lying. What he felt went far deeper than just simple need. It was a burning hunger that had consumed his soul every moment of every day that he had spent trapped in that old well. It had possessed his thoughts and his deeds even after he had escaped and made his way back into the world. It was the driving force behind everything.

Desire. 

Not of a man, but of an ideal. 

It was the desire for the kind of world where people trembled in their beds at night with just the mention of their names. A world where the screams of the dying fed the fear of those that still lived, leaving them wondering when it would be their turn to lie broken and bleeding on the ground. It would be a world that burned at his whim, leaving a trail of blood, tears, and ash in his wake.

His world.

Yet there was one thing that Kronos had lacked in order to make those dreams a reality, and it was the man standing before him now. As good as he was, Kronos knew that he didn’t possess the one thing that Methos had always had in abundance, and that was the power of manipulation. Like survival, it was an art form that Methos had long since perfected, and it was for that reason that Kronos needed him.

No. Not needed. Desired.

Now Methos was his once again, and this time Kronos wasn't planning to let him go quite so easily.


	5. A Witch by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as Kronos is concerned, every woman is Cassandra.

She looked absolutely nothing like the woman Kronos saw in his mind’s eye. Her hair was yellow, her eyes blue, and her body had that thicker quality to it that was common in this age. In fact there was nothing at all about her that resembled the Witch other than her sex, but that was more than enough for him. 

The fight was an extended one as she fought much better than he would have expected. Obviously she had been well taught by someone, and Kronos wondered for a brief moment who that teacher might have been, although it hardly mattered. In the end she was just another bitch that needed putting down, and the outcome was inevitable.

Kronos closed his eyes as he waited for the Quickening, his chest still heaving from the exertion of the fight. The first tendril of mist slowly started to rise and envelop him, and it was only a few moments before the first strike of lightning followed. He cried out as it struck him, his back arching and head thrown back as he felt the essence of the other Immortal start to meld with his own. It was always a violent union, as though the dead wanted one last fight with the one who had killed them. 

When it was finally over Kronos fell heavily to his knees, his breathing harsh and ragged. Then he opened his eyes and looked at the body of the woman before him. He smiled, a cold, sinister smile that would have caused even the strongest person to become faint of heart. 

_Now there’s one less bitch in the world._

A few moments later he got to his feet, then picked up his sword. He paused only to kick the head of the woman viciously before walking away.


	6. Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos starts to question Methos' fascination with one particular slave.

Kronos sat in front of the fire, watching the flames as they flickered in the cold desert night. The others had already turned in for the evening, taking their chosen slaves for warmth and entertainment, but he had no interest in heading to his own tent. Instead he was contemplating something that had been on his mind for quite some time, or rather, someone.

They were brothers, the four of them, sharing everything. Even Kronos, who had started their little band, was not above this rule. This went for everything that was in the camp, from the things they took from their victims, to the slaves that cooked their food and satisfied their needs. It was one of the things that kept them from fighting among themselves as much as they would have otherwise. 

Now though, Methos was keeping one slave to himself. The immortal woman that he had taken to break was now sharing his tent every night without exception. Kronos had allowed it at first, as neither Caspian nor Silas had expressed any interest in the bitch, but now he was starting to believe that letting Methos keep her to himself had been a bad idea. 

Now Kronos had started to notice how his brother had stopped caring about the spoils of their attacks. He saw how Methos often went straight to his tent when they returned, rather than reliving the glory of the raid with his brothers. How he took no other slaves to his tent, except for her. 

"What makes you so special," Kronos growled, as he looked up from the fire and narrowed his eyes at his brother’s tent. Perhaps the time had come, he thought, for him to find out for himself.


	7. Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos is a man with a mission.

They always ran. In some small part of their brain they actually believed they had some small chance of escaping. Some called it the survival instinct inherent in every creature, but Kronos knew that in reality it was really nothing but fear which drove them to stampede like the cattle they were. 

Once he had used paint and masks to instill even greater fear in his victims, but he had learned to change with the times, despite what some of his compatriots might believe. There was no need for those kinds of theatrics in this day and age, when the media itself instilled fear in the populace with every paper printed and every newscast made. Rapists, terrorists, pedophiles, and escaped murderers lurked around every corner and lived in every neighborhood. 

Now, people looked over their shoulders as they crossed the street. They took a second glance at every face that didn’t look like their own, wondering if it was one of _those_ people. The paranoia was rampant in mankind now in ways it hadn’t been since the days when people had hung garlic over their doors and windows in fear of the things that went bump in the night, or had hidden in attics in fear of being hauled away to the concentration camps. 

Fear was a part of their everyday lives, and Kronos made use of that fear now, just as he had done in ages past. Long ago it was the fear of men on horseback, and now it was the fear of diseases and terrorists, but through it all there was always one constant. Kronos was always there to make their fear a reality, and that was never going to change.


	8. Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weapons changed over the centuries, and so did Kronos.

Weapons had come a long ways since Kronos had died the first time. From sticks and stones to swords and axes, from rifles and cannons to tanks and battleships, from nuclear warheads and biochemical weapons to whatever new dark thoughts lurked in the minds of man. Each progression in thought, each leap forward they made in technology, made it easier and easier to destroy more people quickly.

Kronos mostly watched, amused at their need to find something bigger, better, more powerful, or more diabolical in order to kill each other off. Sometimes he would use what they had created, and other times he would just use the knowledge to create something of his own, but always he kept track of what each nation and faction developed. Methos had once more or less informed him that knowledge was a form of power after all, and in a way Kronos had to agree.

Knowledge gave him the information that he needed to instill fear, and in the end it was fear that ruled the hearts of man. Fear of disease, of failure, of each other, of life, and of course the fear of death, were just a few of the things that drove man forward. It was this knowledge that had eventually changed Kronos’ plans from the simple destruction of a few dozen people at a time, to something a bit more large scale. Like the weapons of man, he had evolved in some ways to fit the times. While his goals were much the same, his methods had changed, and it all came down to the one thing that he had always known.

Whoever controlled man's fear, controlled man.


	9. Stranger Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trick or Treat.

He took great care in making sure that everything was as picture perfect as the cover of a magazine. There were jack-o-lanterns with gruesome faces on the front step, their glow becoming brighter as dusk started to darken into true night. There were skeletons hanging from the tree out in the front yard, their bones knocking together in the breeze. Chances are, that no one would get close enough to discover that the bones were not the plastic ones sold in stores. The front porch light was on, and the sounds of a haunted house CD being played filled the air with spooky noises. On the table beside the front door, was a bowl filled with sweets, carefully prepared and wrapped just for the occasion.

All Kronos had to do now was wait, and they would come to the door begging for him to give them some candy, just as they did every year. He would growl playfully as he complied with their threat, his scarred face just another prop to them as they squealed and laughed before running off to the next house. Watching them until they were lost in the darkness, he then waited wait for the next group to appear with their cries of ‘trick or treat’, and he would repeat the process once again.

As he handed out the last of the treats, he tossed the bowl into the room and sat down next to the corpse of the woman who had lived there. Humans and their love of breaking the rules had made his job so much simpler these days. Don’t take candy from strangers they said, because a stranger could mean harm. Yet once a year they actually encouraged that same practice with hardly a thought. It was one of those little inconsistencies that amused Kronos to no end.

Trick or treat indeed.


	10. Eyes That Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos makes a mistake.

Kronos always watched Methos, knowing that there was something going on behind the mirror of the other man’s eyes. There was _always_ something going on there, and Kronos was well aware of the fact that most of the time what his brother said, was not what he was really thinking. So he constantly searched for the telltale signs of something not being quite right with what Methos said. Soon, he learned to notice the slight changes in tone or body language that indicated that something wasn’t really what it seemed. It was almost like a game really, trying to deduce what was truth and what was not.

However, Kronos was not always accurate in his deductions, mostly because he became complacent with regards to his brother and the effect that he had on the other immortal. He was sure that the other man feared him, and so would not actually do anything to outright defy him. Kronos didn’t actually realize how wrong he was until he found himself in the black pit of an old well, looking up into those dark eyes as they locked him away. He swore then and there that he would not make the same mistake again.

He was wrong.


	11. What If?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A what if scenario, had Kronos not been defeated by Duncan.

It had taken him over a decade to perfect, but time had no real meaning to Kronos, as long as the final product accomplished his end goals. Although highly addictive, the drug was a wonder of modern science. It could cure any disease known to exist, and even those that man had not yet discovered. It could even be administered to young children.

The cost to produce the product was exorbitant, but Kronos had little use for money beyond what it could do for him in terms of objectives, and so he would offer it to his distributors free of charge. He would simply tell them it was a free trial, which they would understand, given the drugs addictive properties. After all, what better way to get buyers, they would think, than to get them addicted before they had to start shelling over the cash. Kronos saw no need to enlighten them as to the truth.

The drug would create a feeling of peace and euphoria, which would eventually taper off, causing the need for more in order to continue that feeling. Eventually, the drug would be recalled from the streets, leaving only small pockets of it for everyone to try and find. There would be widespread panic, as people tried to kill each other for another dose. Eventually, the world would degenerate into a state of total chaos, as people turned against each other and ended up destroying the current civilization.

And Kronos would smile at the world that he had created.


	12. The Death Penalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Kronos lost his head is not as simple as it might seem.

Some people might think that Kronos’ world ended because he couldn’t control his rage in the face of the ultimate betrayal. One single moment where he let his emotions overwhelm him to the point that he could no longer exercise the control he needed in order to defeat his opponent. An instant when his defenses gave way in the face of his white hot anger, and he quite literally lost his head.

Those people would be wrong.

In truth it ended when Kronos first found Methos dying in the desert, and allowed him to join his band of raiders. It ended when he neglected to realize just how intent his brother was on leaving them. It ended when he gave a man a choice instead of simply killed him then and there. It ended when he chose to believe that he could keep one step ahead of Death. 

His true end came long before the final fight in Bordeaux, one decision at a time.


	13. The End of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horsemen get a new group of slaves, with one small issue.

Kronos walked slowly down the line, looking over all that was left of the tribe after the Horsemen’s raid. He could practically taste the fear that rolled off of them in waves, and it made him smile despite their pathetic frailty. It was that taste, that scent of coppery blood mixed with despair, that Kronos had lived for since the days he had first become a god.

Now pausing, he looked them over once again and frowned a bit. This batch wouldn’t last long in the Horsemen’s camp, but then again, they rarely did. He would have simply killed them all if not for the fact that Caspian had gone on a feeding frenzy a few nights back and destroyed most of their current stock. This group’s weakness would simply mean they would have to plan another raid within the next few days, and that was something Kronos had no problem doing.

A soft cry from towards the end of the line caught his attention then, since the mortals to this point had been doing their best to stay quiet and go unnoticed. Walking slowly towards the sound, Kronos scowled when he saw that there was a small child in the group. Completely worthless for anything other than causing trouble, he prepared to pull his sword and be done with the matter. Then he saw how the boy was clinging to the woman beside him, trying to muffle his cries in her tattered clothing. The woman watched him with fear in her eyes as she tried desperately to calm the child, but to no avail. Kronos looked between the two, and slowly smiled. Perhaps the child was worthless as a slave, but that didn’t mean it that it couldn’t provide a bit of amusement.

Reaching out, Kronos grabbed the woman and pried the now screaming boy from her skirts, tossing him in Death’s direction. Methos caught the child, and then lifted an eyebrow at Kronos. He said nothing however, but merely held the child in place while Kronos pulled the mother closer to them. Pushing the woman to her knees so that she was more or less at eye level with her son, Kronos then smiled as he pulled out a dagger and held it to her neck. The boy screamed, trying to pull away from Methos with all his might in order to get to his mother, but Methos held him fast. A moment later, Kronos slit the woman’s throat, watching as her blood sprayed all over the boy’s face. 

The scream of the child, which now bordered on madness really, was music to Kronos’ ears. He waited for a few moments, and then nodded to Methos, who released his grip and stepped back. The boy collapsed on his mother’s body, and continued to scream at her, shaking her as though it would somehow wake her up. Eventually however, the child had no more breath for screaming, and he was reduced to soft little whimpers, similar to those of a small puppy. At that point, Kronos decided that the fun was over, and he ended the boy’s misery with a well-placed throw of his dagger. He could have kept him alive in order to enjoy the child’s pain more, but that would end up being far more trouble than it was worth. Walking over, he pulled his dagger from the body, and wiped it on a strip of tattered clothing. 

Finally he stood and glanced at the new slaves once more before looking at his brothers. “Let’s get these ones back to camp. I’m hungry.”


	14. Smoky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos enjoys fire for all it promises.

It started with the flames; almost alive in the way they moved through the ragged tents of the nomadic village. Only licking slowly at first, but soon consuming everything in their path, much like a hungry beast. Leaving nothing in their wake but piles of ash and blackened bone.

Then there was the glow given off by those same flames. It changed the washed out blues of the desert sky into more vibrant shades of orange and red. A thick, oily smoke accompanied the glow and could be seen for miles, warning those nearby that there was something wrong.

The smell came next; a mixture of things that was never the same twice, yet always had similar elements. The harsh scent of smoke, which seemed to penetrate everything, leaving their garments smelling of it for days afterwards. The coppery warm scent of spilled blood, which then slowly faded to be replaced by the smell of blackened flesh. 

The smoke, which slowly swirled around them on the heat waves caused by the fire, would carry with it the ash. Eventually, as the fire got more intense and the screams started to fade away, it would start to leave a greasy stain on their skin. It was a silent testament to the lives that had been claimed by the heat and flames.

Kronos watched the fire as it burned everything to ash, from as close as he could manage without searing his skin from the heat of the flames. He took it all in, breathing it like most people breathed air. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and even the taste of the soot in his mouth and throat. It wasn’t until the last ember of the fires had started to die, and the last screams and whimpers had ceased, that he finally motioned for the rest of the Horseman to head back to camp with whatever chattel was left.

However, it wasn’t the fire itself that held his attention for so long, despite the almost hypnotizing effect that the flames had on him at times. It wasn’t the crackling sounds or the agonized screams of those who had been left to burn alive in the heat. It wasn’t even the sight of hands reaching out of the flames as someone tried desperately to escape their fate.

It was the fear. The fear of those still left in the fire. The fear of those who could see the flames and the smoke, and knew that the nightmares their mothers had warned them about were real. It was the fear that the Horsemen were real, and that they were coming for them next.


	15. Senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A perfect winter landscape. Or is it?

At first glance, anyone coming upon the quiet winter scene would have thought that it belonged on a Christmas card. 

The newly fallen snow was unspoiled, without even the tracks of small animals or birds to mar it’s pristine beauty. The normally vibrant colors had all faded into black and white, with only a few shades of gray to bring it all together. The shapes had all blended into one another, softening the world and making it seem as though everything was perfect, even if only for a moment. 

A lake stood nearby, it’s coating of ice glistening as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. The light brightened the landscape to the point that it was difficult to look at without shading one’s eyes. However the trees, which appeared black under their new coats of winter white, gave just enough contrast to keep that world from being just a little bit too dazzling.

The air had that certain crispness about it as well. It burned the nose; its brisk scent bringing to mind images of childhood. Days spent outdoors sledding, building snowmen, or having snowball fights, rather than inside writing and doing figures. Indeed, the air was still filled with the scent of snow, giving one cause to believe that it would start to fall again at any moment.

If a person were to stand still and simply listen, they would hear only the familiar sounds of winter. There was the crackle of ice along the edges of the lake as it shifted against the frozen banks. The quiet thump of snow as it fell from the trees, and the occasional crack and snap from the branches that strained under its weight. Or perhaps, if they listened closely enough, they could hear the quiet, almost inaudible sound of the breeze as it rustled through those same trees. 

However, if that same someone were to look a little closer, they might see that the world was not quite as flawless as it might seem at first. They might start to wonder why there were no birds calling in the trees, or small animals making tracks in the snow. They might notice a warm, faintly metallic scent hidden in the briskness of the air. They might see a splash of red near the far edge of the lake, and the hair on the back of their neck might start to stand up as they begin to feel like they are being watched. If they were to turn in time, they might even catch sight of a scarred man, and the massive sword that he carried.

They might even have time to voice a scream before their blood spoiled the almost picture perfect landscape.


	16. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos gets tired of playing cat and mouse, and ends up discovering more than he had bargained for.

The bitch had been hunting him for weeks. Chasing him from one place to the next, always just behind him and getting closer each day. He had let her get close enough to feel his presence on a few occasions, or had allowed her to catch a glimpse of him in the crowd. However, he had been careful never to let her get close enough to actually challenge or ambush him, which he knew had caused her no end of frustration on her merry little chase.

Of course, Cassandra believed that she was the cat in her little hunt, and that Kronos was the mouse. She was probably certain that she had her ‘prey’ on the run, and that it wouldn’t be long before she had him cornered. Kronos knew however, that the time had come for her to see the truth, that it was she who had been the mouse all along.

Kronos was tiring of the game, and had finally decided to end it once and for all. He was just about to step out and challenge Cassandra, when who should show up but that goody-two shoes ex-Ranger, MacLeod. Kronos moved carefully back into the shadows, watching as MacLeod led Cassandra away. Then he slipped out and followed them, wanting to see where it was they were headed. 

He stayed just out of their range, slipping into an alley along the street as they walked into a building. He stayed still and watched, waiting for Cassandra to reemerge so he could follow her now that he knew where MacLeod could be found. He wasn’t stupid enough to challenge them when they were together after all.

Then, just as he had resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t going to be coming out anytime soon, Kronos saw another man approach the building. Watching the man with interest, he suddenly pulled in a short breath as he realized who it was that had just entered the building. He hadn’t been close enough to feel the presence, but he would have recognized his brother anywhere. It was Methos.

Grinning, Kronos started altering his plans, knowing he could always get the bitch and her lover later. Right now, the important thing was getting to Methos. His mind turned as he contemplated the possible ways their reunion could go. He would take Methos back if he could, but if not, then he had no problem killing the bastard.

A few minutes later, when Methos hurried back out of the building, Kronos followed after him. He smiled, sticking to the shadows, careful not to let his brother know that he was there. Somehow he knew that in the end, Methos would join him once again, even if only to save his own skin. After all, the two of them together was the stuff of legends, and if Kronos actually believed in such things he might even think it was destiny that was bringing them together once again.


	17. Would You like to Play a Game?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some games are better than others.

It was a tricky thing, to bring fear to an Immortal. It was trickier still, to bring it to one who had lived for several millenniums, and who had spent at least a thousand of those years instilling that fear into others. Tricky, but so much more satisfying than the average games of cat and mouse that Kronos had played over the years.

This particular game though, was different for reasons that went far beyond the kind of prey that had been chosen. This game was about teaching a lesson. It was about making sure that a bond of blood that spanned centuries would not ever be forgotten or casually tossed aside again. It was about brotherhood, and the cost of treachery. It was about something that went far deeper than anyone else could ever know or understand. This was about the final betrayal and the price that Methos had to pay. 

It was a game that Kronos had no intention of losing.


	18. Modern Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are best left in the Bronze age.

Kronos often missed the old days, when the Horsemen would ride out of the sun and bring death and destruction to everything in their path. He missed the sounds of men pleading for their pathetic lives, of women crying over their dead children, and of the ragged screams as his sword swung through air and sliced through flesh and bone. He missed the smell of blood as it permeated the air, and the sight of it splashed across tent walls and desert sands.

However, Kronos had learned to adapt to new times and new ideas. And despite what some people might have thought to the contrary, he had changed some of his methods with the passing of the centuries, even if he hadn’t changed his way of viewing the world. These days, the kind of destruction he craved had to be on a greater scale, and took years to test and develop. These days, it was often less personal, but he could wipe out entire cities with the mere push of a button. All in all, Kronos thought that it was a fair trade, and of course he could still make smaller kills as often as he felt the need.

There were some things though, that Kronos didn’t miss about the old days at all. Things that this technological age had improved upon so much that Kronos wouldn’t want to go back to a time before they were available. Simple things in this day and age perhaps, but still things that he would have missed sorely if they were no longer available to him. Toilets for instance, were a vast improvement upon holes dug in the earth. And then of course there was his personal favorite improvement of the lot: hot running water.

There were few things Kronos actually enjoyed more at the end of the day than a shower where the water temperature was just short of scalding. He would step under the spray, tilting his head back and letting the water trickle over his face and down his body. This was generally accompanied by a low growl of pleasure from deep in his throat as he closed his eyes, and simply enjoyed the sensation of the water. He would often simply stand there like that until the water started to cool, and only then would he proceed to actually wash away the day.

Now some people might think that Kronos had started to go soft if they knew about his daily ritual, but they would be wrong. The simple fact of the matter was that running water washed the dried blood of the kill away far better then standing pools, and Kronos was nothing if not efficient.


	19. Footprints in the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos, a desert, and a whole lot of dying.

Kronos had no idea how much time had passed since he had last tasted the cool sweetness of water against his dry, parched lips. The scorching days and the frigid nights of the desert all seemed to blur together into an endless torture that was broken only by his last ragged breath as he died, and then again by his first gasping breath of renewed life. It was a torture that had repeated itself for so long that Kronos had no real concept of time before he had become lost in this wilderness. Time for him was no longer measured by sunrises or sunsets, but by the number of times he had died on his journey across the burning sands.

As he trudged slowly on through the drifts of sand, his mind continually showed him visions of his desires in the waves of heat that stretched out before him. Sometimes he would see a vision of tents sitting beside a pool of clear water, surrounded by fig trees that whispered together in a cooling breeze. Other times there would be a magnificent horse staked out near an oasis, just waiting to be claimed. And still other times, there would be the fiery glow given off by the remains of the caravan that had left him here in this hell to die over, and over again.

Suddenly, he was brought out of his heat-induced daydreams when a low sound caught his attention. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his footprints stretching out behind him in a long line before disappearing over the rise of the dune. However, it wasn’t the footprints that caught his attention, but the dark line that hung along the horizon. Swearing under his breath, Kronos turned and looked for some sort of shelter from the screaming fury of the sandstorm that was fast approaching, but found nothing. Resigning himself to the inevitable death that was soon to follow, Kronos turned and faced the wrath of the desert, screaming into the wind and stinging sand as it overtook him and swallowed him whole.

When he awoke once again, the sand held him in it’s dark embrace, and it took many days of digging, suffocating, and dying, before he made his way to the light once again. When he finally stood under the desert sun, and felt the heat beating down on him, he looked behind him once more. The desert had swallowed the footprints that he had made, just as it had tried to swallow him, erased by blasting sand and scorching wind. 

Time however, was on his side, and he would not be so easily erased from its pages.


	20. Lightning Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rage had always consumed Kronos.

Kronos had always known rage. It had been his constant companion since before the day he had first woken from his past life as a mere mortal, into his new one as a god among men. The rage had changed over time of course, as all things tend to do, but it had never truly left him for even a moment in all the millennia of his life.

Before his first death, it had only been a spark in the deepest part of his heart. A deep resentment of the people of his tribe for seeing him as nothing more than a foundling without any real status, regardless of his skill as a warrior. An anger that grew when he was rejected as a mate for the chief’s daughter, forced to flee the tribe, and then hunted down like a common animal.

When he had awoken from his first death, it had been fanned into a hot blaze that burned deep in his soul. He hated them all for what a few had done, and was reborn with a bloodthirsty need for revenge against humanity. The fire of his rage slowly twisted and blackened his already dark soul into something that was without any form of mercy or compassion. All of them would die, and he would stand over their burning bodies and laugh at the destruction of mankind.

As time passed, the rage had started to cool into something more calculating. It wasn’t enough to merely destroy them anymore. Instead, he wanted to be known for the monster that he had become. He wanted them to whisper his name in the darkest part of the night, fearing the day when he came into their lives and destroy all that they knew and loved. Not just a story told to frighten children into behaving, but a terrifying reality that brought fear to even the most stouthearted warrior.

Eventually, the rage had turned colder still, and the vision changed yet again to one of world domination. Humanity was nothing more than a dog that needed to be brought to heel, and Kronos was the man who would be their master. Then they would cower before him, and whisper his name in fear once again, as they had in centuries past. 

On occasion though, after dreams of distant memories had visited Kronos in the night, the hot rage of millennia’s past would come to the surface again. And like a bolt of lightening it would strike down out of the dark, cold blackness of Kronos’ soul. Then the stink of fear and the distant death brought about by plague would not be enough, and only the sight of still warm blood running like a river, and bodies blackening as they burned could satisfy him.


	21. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos surveys the remains of a raid.

Kronos walked slowly among what was left of the village, his eyes taking on an almost feral look in the dying light of day. The broken remains of pottery, blackened by fire, crunched under his feet as he moved through the still smoking ruins of one of the tents. Twisted bodies, no more than charred pieces of meat, lay broken among the wreckage of another. 

In the distance, he could hear the shattered sound of a woman’s scream, only to have the voice fall silent a moment later in mid-cry. In his mind, he could imagine the killing blow that had silenced her. He could see the blood as it spurted from the gaping wound in her neck made by Silas’ axe, leaving crimson red stains in patterns across the desert sand as her body crumpled into a heap at his brother’s feet. Kronos paused for just a moment to savor that image before he moved on to the remains of the last tent.

There he paused, ignoring the stench of burned flesh that hung heavy in the air as his eyes were drawn to movement on the outer edge of the village. Drawing his sword, Kronos eyed the carrion birds that circled low in the sky on the other side of the dunes. Stepping over another body, Kronos moved towards them, intent on discovering if there was something out there that had survived the raid. 

Just at the edge of the village where the blackened ground gave way once more to pale sand, he discovered a trail where someone had staggered away from the flames. Sword held at the ready, Kronos followed the trail around the dunes, and paused when he saw an impression in the sand where a body had fallen. Then the trail continued on, widening as the body apparently dragged itself onward.

Then Kronos saw what he had been following as his eyes fell on a young man clutching at the sand with his hands in a vain attempt to drag his body forward. His legs were burned black, showing red meat where the skin had cracked opened, and Kronos was surprised the boy had made it this far given his condition. Walking closer, Kronos heard the boy babbling incoherently to himself. His mind seemingly as shattered as his body, and the village he had tried so hard to escape. 

And smiling to himself, Kronos continued to watch the boy’s struggles until the will to survive eventually gave way to inevitable death, and the sun slowly sank below the horizon.


	22. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos is intent upon an objective.

Kronos didn’t seem to notice the cold, steady rain that had been falling for the last hour. Droplets clung to his hair and skin, dripped on occasion from his eyelashes, and rolled down the back of his neck. The rain then slid beneath the limited protection that this jacket collar offered, plastering the shirt beneath to his skin, and still he ignored it. A puddle formed beneath him in the alley where he was standing and the water eventually seeped through his boots, but he didn’t move from his chosen place, or even shift his position. 

Instead, his attention was focused on the rain soaked street before him, and on the people that would occasionally pass by. He glanced at the couples, walking with their arms comfortably around each other’s waists, and a sneer curled his lips. A part of him wanted to go out there and tear them apart. To destroy the safe, comfortable little cocoon that they had built for themselves. He wanted to hear the screams of fear and pain, to feel the sticky wet heat slide over his fingers as he slit their throats, to smell the coppery scent of blood in the air before the rain washed it all away as though it had never existed. As though _they_ had never existed.

However they were not his chosen prey this evening, and as much as he wanted to allow the darker half of his nature free reign at the moment, he had a more important purpose here. He was not controlled by his baser impulses despite his love of a good bloodbath. Instead he controlled them, allowing for their particular cravings only when it was in his best interest to do so. 

And at the moment his best interests did not include the destruction of a few mere mortals, but instead the end of a dynasty, the catalyst of which had just turned the corner and started walking down the street. Kronos tensed slightly as he saw her, walking along the same path she did every night, not realizing that she was being watched. And as she walked past the alley, she was suddenly pulled into the shadows by a gloved hand before she could so much as scream.

The woman was nothing special on her own. Not a princess, or an empress, or anyone else of much importance in the world of man. She was just a simple woman who happened to be the beloved mistress of a not so simple man. A man who could give Kronos what he needed in order to finish his greatest creation. 

Unfortunately for the woman, she would not be alive longer than it took to get what Kronos needed. Of course, then again, neither would the man.


	23. Broken Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos is still haunted by a shattered brotherhood.

They were brothers in every way that mattered. Joined not by the blood that ran through their veins, but by the blood they had spilled over the years. They were brothers by choice, which meant far more then to be joined by the mere rutting of a man and a woman. The loyalty they shared was one that was cemented in the screams of the people that they had destroyed over countless centuries, and was stronger than any other bond could ever be. 

Or so Kronos had thought, until the unthinkable had happened, and betrayal had torn them apart. 

For years Kronos had relived that day, and every sound, every scent, every taste was just as clear in his mind each time as it had been on the day that he had been betrayed. The sound of Methos’ voice as he spoke of wanting to learn, the scent of blood from the bodies of the dead Greeks, the taste of the wine as it passed his lips, and the pain that had ripped through his body as the poison had taken his life. Sensations that would haunt his every waking thought, and most of his sleeping ones, as he lay trapped in the belly of the well Methos had thrown him in. 

For a thousand years he had lived with the treachery that had been his momentary downfall. And for another thousand years after that he had put it out of his mind, sure that the traitor must have lost his head at one point or another over all of that time. Or so Kronos told himself when one of the dreams came to him, and the moment of treachery was once again brought to his mind.

Then came the rumors of Methos, the world’s oldest man, and Kronos couldn’t simply ignore the possibility that his brother still lived. And so he had started to keep his eyes and ears open for information that might lead him to his betrayer. After all, Kronos knew that he couldn’t continue to let the man think that he could get away with his disloyalty and not suffer the repercussions that came with such an act.

And eventually, after decades of near misses, all the watching and following of old rumors and an even older bitch had finally paid off. The man who had managed to destroy everything Kronos had spent centuries building was within his grasp. Now Methos would find that forgiveness would come with a very steep price indeed.


	24. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos has a really bad day, and someone is going to pay.

The cool of the desert night had already fallen by the time the Horsemen returned to camp. There were no slaves with them this time, a somewhat unusual occurrence, and one that caused more than a little unease. Those that were already in the camp could see by the curt movements and angry faces of their masters that all had not gone well, and they feared for their lives. They knew that more than one of them would be dead by morning, their carcasses thrown to the tender mercies of the desert sands, wind, and scavengers. 

Saying nothing as he dismounted, Kronos simply tossed the reins of his horse to the closest slave. Without so much as a glance at his brothers, he stalked into his tent, letting the flap close behind him. A few moments later there was a muffled scream from the tent, and then silence.

Methos glanced at Silas and Caspian as he handed his own animal off, but they both simply shrugged and then headed over to take their pick of the old slaves. Methos growled under his breath in a language that was already ancient, cursing them for cowards, and made his way to Kronos’ tent. He rapped on the side, waited a moment until he heard a low growl, then opened the flap and stepped into the interior.

Kronos glanced up from where he was washing the blood off his hands in a bowl of water that his favored slave had made ready for his return. The slave herself was obviously no longer in favor, as her remains were in a heap in the far corner of the tent. “That was not an invitation, Methos.”

Not saying anything, Methos merely watched the other man as he finished washing. He had discovered long ago that silence was often the best option when dealing with Kronos’ rather volatile temper.

Stripping until he was wearing just his loose under garments, Kronos then tossed the rest into a pile much like that of the former slave girl. Glaring at his second, he seemed to forget the trespass for the moment, and growled in a low voice, “they killed me.”

Methos simply nodded, his eyes guarded as he continued to watch Kronos, who was now pacing the confines of the tent like a wild animal in a cage. Methos had watched as a group of the villagers had banded together and pulled Kronos from his mount, overwhelming him with sheer numbers and then beating him to death with sticks and rocks before anyone could get to them. One of them had then taken Kronos’ sword and had been preparing to swing it down at his head when Methos had finally gotten close enough to kill the man with a single thrust of his sword. Caspian and Silas had then joined him and it had taken little to kill the rest of them as well. Then, once Kronos had revived, he had taken up his sword and killed everything that remained alive in the village.

Kronos finally stopped his pacing, suddenly turning feral eyes on Methos, and stepping closer to him. 

It was a familiar look, although there was a slightly different light in those eyes than that which Methos was used to seeing. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought perhaps it was the light of a man who had danced with death, and now wanted to remind himself that he was indeed still alive.

And tonight, that way seemed to be Death himself.


	25. Broken Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slave hears a sound in the desert, and goes to investigate.

There were times when the silence of the desert night could be deafening. Times when the woman would give anything for the whisper of a breeze through the olive trees of her native home, or the sounds of the Night-herons calling, or even the chirruping of the cicada’s in the early hours of the evening. Sounds that she had not heard since her father sold her into slavery to pay off the family debt. Sounds that she knew she would likely never hear again.

Now, all that she heard was the cold silence of the desert and the occasional groaning from the camels. Here, the breeze was something to be feared, a herald of stinging sand and the possibility of being buried alive. It was not looked forward to as it had been on Crete. Finally, the woman sighed softly to herself as she tried to stop thinking of things that were over and done, and turned over in her bedding to try and get some rest before getting up to prepare the morning meal. 

She had almost fallen to sleep when she thought she heard something that should not have been possible, and opened her eyes again to look around the camp. The fire caused shadows to flicker and dance throughout the camp, making it difficult to see anything out of the ordinary. The camels were mostly quiet, only shifting and bellowing on occasion, which was not all that unusual for the ill-tempered beasts. Perhaps she had been mistaken, and her dreams of home had her hearing things that could not truly be there. And then she heard it yet again, the soft wicker of a horse, an animal that they did not have in this caravan. 

Quietly the woman got to her feet, wondering of perhaps another caravan had lost an animal, and it had been attracted to the camp by the sounds and light. If she could just capture the horse, then it was possible that her master would be generous and would allow her to use the price they got for the animal in the next town’s market towards her purchase. Then she would be just a little bit closer to finding her way back home.

Stepping quietly away from camp, unhindered by chains or ropes as there was no place for her to run in the middle of the desert, she made her way towards the direction that she had last heard the sound. Once she left the circle of light cast by the fire, she paused on occasion, listening again for some sound or movement to guide her, and then continuing on. 

Suddenly a black shape rose up before her, darker than the night itself, and she slowly reached out a hand to touch the muzzle of the beast. Then, just as her fingers brushed the silky fur, a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Before she could even draw the breath to scream, another hand slammed into her throat, crushing her vocal cords and making it impossible for more than a ragged breath to be drawn. Then a face loomed before her in the darkness, with a jagged scar slicing across one eye and a smile that made her blood run cold. 

She felt a sharp pain in her stomach a moment later, and then an intense heat that seemed to radiate from the source of that pain. Time seemed to move in slow motion then, as the grip on her wrist loosened. And while her mind screamed at her to run, her body refused to obey and instead she sank down into the sand. Looking up, the last thing she saw before her world turned black was a monster’s smile, and then the silence took her forever.


	26. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos should have known better, and yet somehow he was still surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words in italics are from 'Revelation 6:8'

Methos had always been the survivor, willing to do whatever it took to continue living. This was something that Kronos had known ever since he had first met the man in the deserts south of Mesopotamia, and he had never really been naive enough to think it was a love of power that had kept Methos with the Horseman all those centuries. Methos had enjoyed it all at first of course, the killing, the terror they instilled, and the sheer power they had over all those who saw them. However Kronos had always known that it was the need to survive through those harsh times that had really kept him with them, and later on, it was the knowledge that Kronos would kill him if he were to ever leave. 

Of course, despite this knowledge, Kronos had allowed himself to forget from time to time, and actually believe that his brother had some sense of loyalty. That the brotherhood that the four of them had formed would be something that would continue to bring Methos back throughout the centuries, however reluctantly he might choose to do so at first. Or perhaps it was simply that Kronos allowed himself to believe that the threat that he himself posed was enough to keep Methos in line. 

These thoughts all flashed through Kronos’ mind when he saw Methos standing there, sword in hand, preparing to take up the fight with Silas again. Ready to kill his favorite brother over the head of a slave who would just as soon kill him as look at him. Willing to betray Kronos yet again, all to protect the Highlander who now stood opposite Kronos. 

Oh Kronos knew that he should have been expecting it, and he cursed himself mentally even as the shock of what he was seeing started to wear off. He knew that he should have planned for the eventuality, finding a way to disarm the threat, and thereby dulling the effects of his rage when the moment finally did come to pass, as it always did. And yet he didn’t do any of those things, and when he looked through the railing and saw what was going on below, he had still somehow managed to be caught by surprise.

Then the rage came. The rage he had spent centuries cultivating while locked in a well. The rage that had slowly dissipated as time had passed until it had only simmered below the surface when he saw Methos once again. It swept through him, and then in a moment of crystal clarity it burned his destiny into his mind once and for all. Then he turned once again to look at the man beside him on the catwalk, and a dark insanity shone in his eyes.

_"You still don’t understand, do you MacLeod. I AM THE END OF TIME!"_

_"You’re history."_

Then the swords clashed, and the fight continued with even more intensity than what had gone on before the pause brought about by the appearance of Methos and Silas. And when the end finally came, Kronos’ last thought before the sword fell was that one day the betrayer would be betrayed in turn, and finally know what it was to truly die.


	27. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Passion means different things for different people.

Kronos tilted his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the energy starting to flow through him as the mist slowly gathered. Flickers of lightning started to wrap themselves around him, causing a low groan to escape from the back of his throat and his body to start shaking as the intensity began to build. He tried to remember to breathe, but it was as though his body would no longer obey his commands, regardless of how hard he tried to force it to.

After that, the energy really started to flow, and the groan turned into a ragged scream as energy crackled through every inch of his body. He barely felt his sword slip through his fingers, as every nerve in his body seemed to simply explode with the combined pleasure and pain that whipped through him. Then images started to flash through his head of lives that he had never led, and people that he had never met, and they seemed to simply melt into his mind along with everything else that had made up the pitiful existence of the Immortal who’s head he had just taken.

Finally, when all was said and done and the quickening had completely merged with his own, he fell to his knees in the grass beside the headless body and took a moment to catch his breath. 

The intensity of what had just occurred was in many ways the most powerful and passionate merging that he, or any other Immortal, would ever know.


	28. When the Two Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.

Love was a weakness, and was of use to Kronos as nothing more than a weapon against others. It was a lesson that he had learned upon his first death, and one that he was determined to always remember. It was also a lesson that he used to his advantage whenever he could. After all, he had often seen instances where love had toppled cities that no army ever could ever breach. And there was no sweeter sound to his ears than to hear the begging and screaming that accompanied the torture and death of someone’s lover, parent, or child.

Anger on the other hand, was something to be valued. Cold anger, the kind that came from deep within and kept a person focused on the task at hand, was what Kronos liked best. It kept the hatred for all those weaker than himself burning deep inside, feeding it as the years passed and giving him a reason to continue on when other immortals lost the will to live. It was something that had been a part of who he was for so long, that in a way it had become all that he was as the centuries had passed. 

Then came the day when strength and weakness combined to form the seeds of his own destruction. It was the day that Methos had come back into his life, and ended up destroying everything. The day when he had watched a man he called ‘brother’ betray him a final time, and had allowed the ever present anger to boil over into a rage that was so white hot it had blinded Kronos to everything else.

It was the day that he lost his head.


	29. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos waits patiently for the perfect time to strike.

Kronos watched as the wagon train moved slowly across the plains. He was in no hurry himself, although it was obvious that the men who followed him were getting restless while waiting for him to decide what it was that he wanted to do. However, regardless of how impatient they might have become, the men never once considered moving without him giving them the signal. They had seen what El Gato did to the people who crossed him, and they would rather be one of his many victims than to be one of the men who went against his wishes.

Suddenly Kronos sat forward in his saddle, and the men all got quiet as they followed his gaze. The train was starting to circle around in preparation for settling down for the night, and it was obvious from the look on his face that this was what Kronos had been waiting for since they had started following it earlier that afternoon. 

Kronos didn’t make a move though, or give a signal of any kind; he simply continued to watch as the sun started to set. He waited for the women to start preparing supper and for the smaller children to start running around as they worked off some of the pent up energy that came from the monotony of sitting in the wagons all day. He waited for the men to start to let their guards down, as they grew more tired from the long day that was now behind them, and started to prepare for the long day that would be ahead.

Then, just as the twilight shadows descended across the plains, he turned to his men with a slow, cruel smile and gave them the signal they had been waiting for all afternoon. "Kill them. Kill them all."


	30. In The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone starts somewhere, even Kronos.

Kronos had been a foundling, and the only reason the tribe had even picked him up was the fact that he had been male, and therefore of some possible use to them in the future. He had no status in the group, other than the status that automatically came with being male, and so he moved from family to family depending on who had the most extra food and was willing to take him in for a time. As he grew, he would sit on the outskirts of the various fires, listening to the hunters talk and learning all that he could from them.

When he was of age, he joined the hunters, and soon started to prove his worth to the band. However, he was still considered to be the lowest ranking male member of the tribe because he hadn’t been born into the ‘family’. Eventually he may have worked his way up through the group due to his hunting prowess, but before that could happen, Kronos made the mistake of telling the headman of the tribe that he intended to take his daughter as his first wife.

The headman scoffed at the idea, telling Kronos in no uncertain terms that his daughter was out of his reach, and that he should find another woman to satisfy his desires. However Kronos thought he was in love, as did the girl, and one night the two of them made the decision to run away to another tribe where they could be together without interference from her father. So, they stole several items they would need from various members of the tribe, and ran as far as they could, praying to their Gods that it would be far enough.

It wasn’t.

The headman stopped at nothing to find them, as it would have meant the end of him as head of the tribe if the two managed to escape him in such a way. And when they did find the two several days later, he punished them in the only way that would make the rest of the tribe continue to look upon him as the leader. He killed them both, and then left their bodies to the animals and the elements as a warning to everyone else.

When Kronos awoke from his first death, he thought that he must be a God himself, and his rage knew no bounds. He went after his tribe, and slaughtered every last man, woman, and child to pay them back for what had happened. However that wasn’t enough for him, and he decided that all of humanity should pay for the slight they had done to him. And so he vowed to destroy them, or to bring them under his heel, for all of eternity.


	31. Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of the past haunt Kronos still.

Sometimes in the hottest part of the day, when the sun beat down unmercifully through the grate that covered the top of the well, Kronos would sleep. Often he would wake from this sleep as the day cooled and remember nothing of what he dreamed, if indeed he had dreamed at all. However, some days, he would wake with distant echoes of the past in his mind. 

He would remember the sound of horses’ hooves beating against hot desert sand, and the screams of men, women and children. He would recall the scent of sweat, blood, and fear as he and his brothers’ road through their pathetic excuses for villages, destroying everything as they went. He would bring to mind images of his brothers, their faces painted to invoke even more terror in their victims, as they laughed and divided the spoils of war.

On these days, the monks that watched over the monster, as they had been bidden to do since before any of them could remember, would hear complete silence from the well. There would be none of the screams of anger and rage that normally came from the depths, no curses spoken in languages that none of them could understand. 

And for some reason that none of them could ever really explain, this frightened the monks far more than the curses and screams of fury ever could.


	32. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos notices something is off with Methos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words in quotes are from a cut scene in 'Revelation 6:8'

It had been a good day. The village that the Horsemen had raided had been slaughtered down to the last child, other than those people that they had taken for other pleasures of course. There were a few of the women who Kronos had taken a liking to himself, and he was looking forward to an evening of entertainment. Glancing over at Methos as he dismounted, he grinned. "Another day well spent, Methos. Come, let's celebrate. Divide our bounty."

"You can have my share. I'm tired."

Kronos frowned as he watched his ’brother’ walk away. Something had changed in Methos, and Kronos was starting to realize that this wasn’t just another of the phases that he went through on occasion. This was something that went deeper than the occasional need to strike out on his own, and Kronos knew that it had something to do with that woman that he kept all to himself. The Immortal.

When they had first found her, Kronos had been about to simply take her head and be done with her, when Methos convinced him that it would be amusing to take the girl as a slave. They could kill and torture her as often as they wished, and therefore lead her to believe that they truly were Gods, with power over life and death. Kronos had thought it would end up being too much trouble himself when there were plenty of slaves to torture and kill anyway, and most everyone had heard of them and believed them Gods already. However, he had decided in the end that there would be no harm in letting Methos have his fun, and had agreed. 

Now he regretted that choice, as Methos seemed to have become attached to the wench, and lately had seemed to become another person altogether from the one that Kronos had rode with in the past. It was time that changed, and Kronos would see to it that the change would start tonight.


	33. The New World Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos didn't die at Bordeaux.

Kronos smiled, sitting back in his chair and watching the television, or at least the few stations that were still broadcasting at any rate. He had known that the virus he had created was deadly, but he hadn’t realized just how quickly it would incubate and spread among humans until he had actually released it into the water supply above Bordeaux. 

The world was shocked of course, as the city slowly started to die, it’s people dropping like the proverbial flies that Kronos often thought of them as. He had enjoyed watching as they tried to quarantine Bordeaux, which of course was useless as they had waited far to long and people already infected had contaminated those who were simply visiting the beautiful city and it’s world famous vineyards. It was then, when the plague was at it’s height in Bordeaux and had started to appear in other places and even countries, that he had made his demand. He didn’t want much, just the world at his beck and call, to do with as he pleased. If they agreed, then he would give them the means to cure the virus. If not…

Needless to say, the governments had argued and fought among themselves until it had been to late to do much of anything. It was something that Kronos had almost counted on actually. There were far to many people in the world, and population control was always an effective way of starting a new rule as far as he was concerned. Less work in the long run, and those that did survive would be much more sport when he decided he wanted a bit of fun.

Kronos smirked and got to his feet as another station suddenly cut out due to ‘technical difficulties’. The world as they knew it was over, and now, it was time for the new world order to begin.


	34. What's Mine Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one took something that Kronos had claimed.

It was just before noon when Kronos made his way to the edge of the oasis to meet with Methos after scouting the village. He senses tingled with the presence of an immortal, which he had been expecting, but the sound of a sword fight was something he hadn’t anticipated and he hurried his steps in order to see what was going on.

As he came through the last stand of trees, he saw Methos ‘mortally’ wounded by his opponent, and watched as his brother fell to his knees in the sand. Kronos’ eyes narrowed, and as the other immortal lifted his sword to make the final stroke, Kronos moved forward, sliding his own sword into the man’s back and twisting it viciously. He then yanked the sword out and watched as the interloper fell into the sand at his feet. 

Glancing at Methos, who had fallen forward in ‘death’ as well, Kronos lifted his own sword and swiftly removed the head of the man who would have taken Methos’ quickening. Then he stood back and waited as the storm came over him, and with it the essence of the man he had killed. 

When it was finally over, Kronos got to his feet again and walked over his brother, standing over him as he waited for Methos to revive. He watched as Methos drew in that first harsh breath and told himself that no one was going to try taking something that belonged to him and not pay for it. Rules be damned.


	35. Field Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kronos' latest virus looks promising, but there's a few more questions he needs answered.

Kronos lifted the vial and turned it slowly in his fingers, contemplating his next move. The tests he had conducted to this point had all been successful, with a mortality rate that was almost 100%, even in cases where the test subject was treated for the disease in some manner. He was pleased so far, but he knew that the time had come to take the next step and test the plague on a human subject. 

He knew that the best way to test the effects of the disease would be to capture a subject and then observe them in the lab so that he could get a good idea of how the disease would progress, just as he had with the rats and the monkeys that he had used previously. However, he wasn’t as interested in the physical effects at this point as he was on the emotional and psychological effects on those that came into contact with the victim, and in how quickly it spread. In order to do that in the lab he would have to capture several healthy subjects, and that was bound to attract attention, which he didn’t want at this point. Therefore, he concluded that the best way to proceed was with a field test. 

So to that end, Kronos carefully slid the vial into a specially created container and then slipped that into his jacket pocket, along with a few tools and a pair of gloves. He then headed up to the surface and into the city, where he wandered around for quite some time until he happened to notice a glint of silver on the sidewalk before him. Taking a closer look, he discovered a quarter, and a thought came to mind. 

Picking up the piece of change and slipping it into his pocket, he moved into a nearby alley, making sure he was alone before pulling out the gloves, then slipping them on before pulling the container from his pocket as well. He glanced around, and then saw a garbage can with a lid on it that would make an adequate table for his purposes. He then proceeded to put the container on the lid and removed a stand he had brought to place the vial on so he could keep his hands free. After carefully setting up the stand, he removed the vial from the container and placed it in its prepared resting place. Then, he carefully twisted the rubber stopper out of the vial, and inserted a small brush, dipping it into the clear liquid.

He paused for just a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the quarter, turning it in his fingers much as he had done with the vial earlier. Then he grinned to himself as he brushed the liquid over the quarter and waited for it to dry to his satisfaction. Setting the quarter on the lid with the untreated side down, he proceeded to put everything back where he had gotten it from, while leaving the gloves on. Once he was satisfied with the placement of his tools, he picked up the quarter, and walked back into the street. 

Kronos walked for a few blocks, and then casually let the quarter slip from his fingers, watching to see where it landed without seeming too. Then he turned into a nearby café and settled down at one of the outside tables that allowed him a good view. It wasn’t more than a few moments later when a small child of about nine picked up the change and happily examined it before slipping it into the pocket of her dress. 

Kronos smiled as he casually got to his feet and followed her down the street, staying far enough away not to be noticed. He couldn’t have picked a better test subject if he had tried.


End file.
